


Alcohol, Anxiety and All the Wrong Choices

by 0neType



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, Exhibitionism, First Meetings, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Making Out, Night Clubs, Papyrus has a Complicated Past(TM), Sans is just trying to live his life tbh, Technically Post-Pacifist Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out celebrating with a friend, Papyrus meets a monster who makes him an offer he can’t refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a short drabble to get over my block...
> 
> Somehow it resulted in a long oneshot with a shit-ton of backstory and worldbuilding that I didn't even get a chance to fully put into this fic //rip

He’s not the clubbing type.

There’s nothing about the scene that entices him.

For one, if he wants to get drunk, there are better methods of going about it. Personally he likes to do it the old fashioned way, where he’s curled up on his couch with whatever alcohol he happens to have on hand. If he’s feeling fancy and looking to splurge with his pitifully meager funds, he’ll go out to a bar.

Clubs, despite what others may say, aren’t really the sort of place you go to get smashed. What they’re _actually_ there for is the _interaction_.

And Papyrus hasn’t been interested in that for years.

Besides that, the music is heavy and obnoxious. It’s maybe something he could’ve hummed along to on the radio, but here, blaring so loud that it rattles his bones, it’s nothing more than irritating. The lighting isn’t his favourite either—it switches between flashy bursts of neon and pitch blackness with every boom of the bass, and Papyrus would like nothing more than to just be able to turn around and leave.

But.

He can’t.

He’d _promised_ Muffet he’d be here for her on her big night. She’d specifically requested his presence, eyes gleaming in that frighteningly intense way of hers. She’d even gone as far as offering to pick him up from his crappy little apartment complex in the shady part of the city that she was always curling her lip at. It was almost sweet of her, if you could look past the menacing tone of her voice when she’d suggested it.

More to the point though, he kind of owned Muffet this. After all the times she’d been there for him when he couldn’t afford to go to anyone else… well, he’d be the shittiest friend around if he just up and left when _she_ needed _him_.

After all, it wasn’t everyday that a small-town monster made it big in a densely populated human city. Muffet had built her company from the ground up, the first monster from her arachnid-type family to ever do so. The surface may have welcomed monsters into their fold over two centuries ago, but that didn’t mean relations with the humans were always easy. Muffet had toughed out an incredible amount of challenges to make it to where she was today.

And even then, while juggling a growing business, she’d tirelessly helped him through the worst of his troubles.

(Both financial and… otherwise.)

If anyone deserved a chance to unwind and celebrate, it was her.

Now, if only he could  _find_ her.

It’s been less than half and hour since they got here but Papyrus has somehow already lost his multi-limbed friend to the crowd. He pushes through group after group of boisterous monsters—and the occasional lost-looking human—but he still can’t pick her out from the masses. He grips his cell tightly in his hand, but he’s well aware that no matter how many times he calls she’s not likely to hear the ringing over the clamour of the music.

There’s not many options for him at this point. He could either continue making rounds searching for her or he could go back to the car and wait till she’s done. At that point, she’s sure to come looking for _him_ instead. Though it sort of defeats the purpose of him being here in the first place if he can’t celebrate with her.

Neither option is very appealing, though at least with the first one he doesn’t have to sit on his ass for hours being bored out of his mind. He sighs.

Back to searching it is.

He pockets his phone, turns the volume to max along with the vibration just in case Muffet tries to reach him. He gives one last searching gaze over the tops of the heads in the crowd, but there’s nothing to tip him off as to her location. He slumps a little, already weary; positivity has never been his strong suit. He figures that the next best thing he can do is start asking the monsters around him if they’ve seen anyone matching her description.

He’s about to do just that when a firm grip encircles his right arm.

Papyrus turns around and, for half a second, he thinks that his prayers have been answered—that Muffet has found him and he doesn’t have to worry about tracking her down in a throng of sweaty, inebriated monsters. Instead, his sockets go wide in surprise as he sees a short skeleton monster grinning up at him.

The thing is, they’re not exactly the most common race of monsters; certainly not the type you’d expect to bump into randomly on the street. They may not have the rarity they used to over a hundred years ago, but it’s still pretty startling to come across another skeleton out of the blue like this. Papyrus can count on one hand the number of monsters like him he’d met in his entire life.

“Can I help you?” He manages to ask once the initial shock has worn off, eyes flicking over the monster’s appearance.

Papyrus takes in the steady red glow of his eyes and the sharp edges to teeth as he smiles up at him. The black leather of his jacket looks soft and expensive even in the dim lighting of the club, a light fur trim around the collar framing his face just-so, like it was tailor-made for him. He’s wearing long black slacks and immaculately shiny dress shoes and Papyrus wonders for a brief, self-conscious moment if he's too under-dressed to be allowed in here.

“Actually,” The monster starts, and Papyrus has to drag his gaze away from the gleaming platinum rings—two of them; one band on each hand—around his phalanges. The skeleton doesn’t seem to mind the staring and simply continues speaking. His voice is low and gravelly, but somehow still painless to discern, even over the music, “I was thinking _I_ might be able to help _you_.”

His mind instantly flashes to Muffet before he reminds himself that there’s no way this guy knows he’s even _looking_ for her, let alone where she might actually _be_. It’s pretty evident from the way he’s smiling, all wide and calculating, that he has something else in mind entirely.

What that something actually _is_ , he has no clue.

Papyrus frowns at him, “Uh, sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Impossibly, the guy’s smile spreads even further, his jagged teeth on full display, revealing a single gold canine among the line-up of pearly white, “How’d you like to make a quick two hundred bucks?”

Papyrus stares at him, incredulous, but the skeleton doesn’t drop his slow, satisfied smirk.

He knows he should turn away, politely decline and go back to looking for his friend. The offer is shady as hell, after all. But, at the same time, he can’t stop his traitorous mind from thinking of all the things he could use that much cash for.

He thinks about the rent coming up, price obscenely high for how in tatters everything in his apartment is. He thinks about the money he’s borrowed from Muffet in the past that he’s never paid her back for and that she’s never even asked about since. He thinks about the fact that the only jobs he currently has are a corndog stand downtown and part-time at Muffet’s when she can afford to give him the hours.

(He very, very, carefully does _not_ think of blue eyes and bright smiles.)

He soul churns with guilt and regret at all the times he’s been a burden on his closest friend. She’d told him once that he was like family to her, and it’s clear to him that he’s been taking advantage of the kindness and loyalty that title entailed for far too long. Muffet shouldn’t have to put up with his leeching—especially not when he was more than capable of standing on his own two feet.

The skeleton is still waiting for him to answer, hands in his pockets and face tilted up slightly as he watches him.

Papyrus hesitates. He gives a cursory glance out into the crowd for Muffet one last time. Not seeing her anywhere, he turns back to the monster.

He nods.

 

As it turns out, there’s nothing too weird that the other skeleton wants from him. In fact, it’s almost _suspiciously_ _easy_ considering all he has to do is walk around the club with him and talk.

“Why do you even need me to do this?” Papyrus asks, very aware of the many pairs of eyes that stare at them as they pass.

(Apparently he’s not the only one that thinks this guy stands out a little.)

The small monster shrugs, doesn’t even look his way as he continues walking, “You have an almost uncanny resemblance to someone important. With the awful fucking lighting in this place, nobody’ll be able to tell if it’s really him walking around with me or not. That’s useful.”

“And… _why_ is that useful?”

At that, he _does_ turn around, ever-present smile still on his face, “You just let me worry about that.”

It’s not reassuring.

Papyrus isn’t sure it was meant to be in the first place.

“By the way,” the monster stops walking and looks up at him, inadvertently stopping Papyrus’s thoughts from spiralling into a panic of, ‘oh god, I’ve definitely gotten involved in something illegal, haven’t I?’. He looks calm as ever, voice clear and unworried, “In case we get roped into a situation where we’re talking to someone directly and you’ve gotta know who I am, the name’s Sans.”

His soul nearly stills in his chest.

There’s a rush of emotion that pulses at him so fast that he feels choked by the tide of it. His phalanges reflexively twitch at his sides as he manages a strangled whisper, “I… already know a Sans.”

The monster doesn’t seem to notice his mini-crisis, just snorts in response, “Yeah? And?”

Papyrus tries to reason it out in his head.

It’s not like Sans is an _uncommon_ name. Neither is Papyrus, or, for that matter, the names of _any_ of the important figures that had escaped the Underground all those years ago. Modern monsters recycled those names constantly—Papyrus himself had known his fair share of Toriels and Asgores while growing up. A few even named their children Frisk despite there being no etymology for the name prior to its use by the human child who’d freed them all from their confinement. So, with skeleton monsters having the naming conventions that they did, it’s really not strange at all that he’d meet another Sans.

… and yet.

“If it’s all the same to you… I’d rather call you something else.”

The monster raises a brow ridge at him but doesn’t press, simply shrugs instead, “Knock yourself out. I don’t care _what_ you call me as long as it’s privately and not in front of anyone important. In public though, it’s gotta be Sans. Sorry.”

He can live with that compromise.

It’s not like he’s ever gonna see the guy again after this anyhow.

He nods and gives the small skeleton in front of him another once-over. His eyes seem to burn in the dim lighting as he waits patiently for Papyrus to speak. He stares at them thoughtfully.

“How about Red?”

The monster starts to laugh, “Wow, that’s real fucking creative, buddy.”

Papyrus flushes a little in embarrassment, “If it’s _that_ bad, I’ll come up with something else.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, eyes sparkling with mirth, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

With that, Red turns around again and starts walking, prompting Papyrus to follow after him. He’s still not sure what this is all about, but Red exudes the kind of confidence that makes it hard to be worried and—more troublingly—even harder to _ask_. Besides, if it turns out that this _is_ something illegal, he has a feeling that the less he knows, the better off he’ll be.

Papyrus walks side-by-side with Red as he chatters away, talking about a number of seemingly random topics as they pass by strangers in the crowd. Once or twice, Papyrus spots him nodding at monsters as they pass. They’ll acknowledge him back the same way and then direct a greeting at Papyrus as well. If they’re holding drinks in their hands, they’ll tip them in his direction, ice clinking against their glasses. Papyrus stiffly nods back each time, wary and unsure, but Red never lingers for more then a handful of seconds and they pass by before anyone can initiate conversation.

It’s not all that different from what he was already doing really, just walking around in the crowd like this. He tells himself to keep one socket open for Muffet at all times, just in case he spots her while they wade through a veritable sea of monsters. _Red_ doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone though. There’s a directionless-ness to his path. Like he’s more or less making rounds instead of actually trying to _get_ anywhere.

Papyrus stares at the skeleton quietly. He takes in the low-burning assurance with which he holds himself and contrasts it against the outward exuberance he’d grown familiar with in another monster who’d shared his name. The parallel is striking.

He’s so caught up in his comparisons that he hardly notices it when they come to a stop in front of surprisingly secluded sitting area. The couches are a creamy faux-leather, the lights casting onto them in soft, pale colours. It’s a big enough arrangement that four of five monsters could sit there comfortably, each u-shaped sectional separated by a thin-walled divider. However, as Red slides in and motions for him to do the same, Papyrus gets the feeling that no one is going to be joining them here.

“That should be enough, but I’d give it twenty more minutes just in case we need to go out on the floor again.” Red says as Papyrus takes the seat across from him, “After that, I’ll hand you the cash and we can go our separate ways.”

Papyrus nods at him, but before he can ask what they’re meant to do till then, another monster approaches carrying a wide silver tray. They smile politely and place an array of different drinks down on the table between them, colours ranging from bright and toxic to murky browns that are more familiar to him. Papyrus eyes them guardedly as Red slips their server a couple bills pulled straight from his jacket.

“You, uh… ordered drinks?” Papyrus says as the monster leaves. He glances at the colourful mixes again, wondering if it’s normal to get served like this in a club. Not that he’d know if it wasn’t—he’s certainly never been out enough to tell the difference.

“Not exactly,” Red shrugs, picking up a small shot glass from the sparkling display of glasses and tipping it back into his mouth in one smooth motion, “It’s my usual. They send over the same stuff whenever I sit back here. No ordering required.”

Papyrus eyes his small stature, “You drink all these on your own?”

Red reaches for a larger glass this time, with an amber coloured liquid that sloshes as he drags it across the table, “If that’s your subtle way of asking me to share, there’s no need. You can have your pick.”

Papyrus flicks his gaze over the lineup, his desire to drink at a surprising low. He figures it’s probably because he recognises less than half of these concoctions, their hues foreign and mildly worrying. The idea of accepting drinks from a total stranger is also less than appealing.

His reluctance must show, because Red speaks up again.

“If you’d rather get your own drink, that’s fine too.” He offers.

He bristles at the words, a scowl making its way onto his face at the probable jibe at his reluctance. When he looks up at Red, however, he finds that the smaller skeleton is serious in his suggestion. His face betrays no hint of mockery.

It’s… somehow kinder than Papyrus had been expecting him to be capable of.

… fuck it.

He’ll drink.

He’s always been a fairly good judge of character, and he’s certainly not a kid anymore. Red doesn’t _seem_ like he’s trying anything so… it’s good enough for him.

He picks up a smaller glass at random, slams it back and barely suppresses a wince as it burns on the way down. Apparently his new-found friend here had a taste for the stronger stuff. He places the emptied glass back down on the table and makes to reach for another, studiously avoiding the delighted grin growing on Red’s face as he does so.

“Alright, so what am I supposed to do while we wait?” He asks in an attempt to stave off any awkward silences.

“Whatever you want,” Red shrugs indifferently but his eyelights flash with something resembling amusement as he continues, “You’re the boss, Boss.”

At that Red, starts to snicker to himself. Papyrus instantly feels like he’s missed something. He frowns at him but it's as if the irked expression on his face only makes Red laugh even harder. Papyrus fidgets in his seat, uncomfortable.

The way he said it makes it sound like a reference to something.

(… is he supposed to know what it is?)

“Oh man, sorry,” Red gives another peal of laughter at his confusion, loud and genuine, tears gathering in the corners of his sockets as he tries to speak, “Sorry, sorry, that’s—that’s not gonna make sense to—heh, that’s not funny to anyone but me. My bad.”

Rather than feeling irritated though, Papyrus finds himself staring hard at the curve of Red’s smile as he continues to laugh.

It’s reassuring, in a way, that Red is so different from Sans. They have the same general body type, but that’s about where the similarities end. Despite being the same age as him, Sans had the type of baby-face that made people think he was much younger. It was the kind of thing that had made him pout and complain as he and Papyrus talked late into the night, his head resting on Papyrus’s chest. Red, however, has got the look of someone who’s had to grow up quick to adjust. Papyrus may not know his age, but he wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Red was the slightest bit older than him.

It’s in their smiles too, that perfect edge of contrast. Sans was enthusiastic in everything he did, radiant when he was happy with his smile beaming bright on his face. Red has a more somber quality to him. It’s by no means any less wholehearted—Red seems to laugh freely and without restriction—but there’s something different about it. Like every smile dares you to ask him to stop. Like every grin is weaponized confidence against a threat no one else can see.

He looks good, smiling like that.

Papyrus likes it.

It takes him a second to sense that Red has gone quiet and he drags his sight away from his mouth back up to his eyes. Red is watching him, his gaze lingering in quiet contemplation. Papyrus flushes as he realises he’s been caught staring. He wishes he could blame the alcohol but he hasn’t had nearly enough to get him even slightly buzzed.

But Red doesn’t call him out on it, instead choosing to stay silent. His thumb toys with the ring on his left hand. Papyrus shakily reaches for another glass to keep himself occupied, sips at it carefully, avoiding eye contact.

Red tilts his head slightly to one side, “Wanna make out?”

“I—what—?!” Papyrus coughs, his drink spraying out of his mouth. 

“Feel free to say no,” Red grins at him and Papyrus feels his soul speed into a drumming against his ribcage, “Just thought it’d be a good way to pass the time.”

He doesn’t answer.

He _can’t_ answer.

How can he when he’s so fucking conflicted he can’t even look up from the table. What he _wants_ to say is ‘yes’ but just the thought of it makes him feel sick with a guilt that no longer has any reason to be there in the first place. It’s been _ages_ but Papyrus still gets that stutter-stop feeling in his soul when he thinks about moving on.

(No matter _how_ much he wants to.)

Red eyes him over for a moment. A flicker passes through his eyes and it seems like he’s come to a decision independent of Papyrus’s non-answer. He stares as Red shifts out of his seat, edging closer to him. Papyrus continues to sit stock still as he comes right up to his side, the warmth of his body now near enough to feel through the thin fabric of the shirt Papyrus is wearing.

“Let me know if you want me to stop.” Red whispers at his position by his shoulder.

With a fluidity that suggests plenty of practice, Red moves into his lap, knees parted on either side of Papyrus’s thighs. He lays his arms over his shoulders, rocks a little as he gets comfortable. Papyrus can feel warmness sink into his bones at the motion, a heady mixture of both alcohol and barely-there arousal. Red’s breath ghosts against the exposed part of his cervical vertebrae and Papyrus shivers.

“Is this okay…?” He manages to speak up at last and Red looks up at him questioningly, “Aren’t I supposed to be pretending to be someone else?”

Red goes pensive for a moment, “No one really comes back here to be honest. I doubt anyone’ll see us.”

Papyrus is skeptical, “Did you see how packed it is tonight?”

“Quit your worryin’,” Red is chuckling again, and the rumbling of his chest knocks against Papyrus’s own as he does so, “I know the guy that owns this place. He’ll make sure we’re not disturbed.”

Red shifts again, this time so he can press his forehead up to Papyrus’s. His sockets have gone half-lidded, red-lit pupils smoldering. He rocks forward and Papyrus feels his breath catch at the drag of friction against his bones.

“Besides,” He says and, as he speaks, Papyrus catches the tantalising glow of a red tongue, “I don’t really fucking care if we _do_ get caught.”

As if to emphasise the point, Red pushes downwards hard enough for Papyrus to feel the press of his quickly heating magic against the bones of his pelvis. He shudders, hands instinctively coming up to grab at Red’s hips. Red smiles at that and rewards him with a long lick along the side of his jaw.

There’s very little speaking to follow the action.

Instead, Papyrus's mouth becomes preoccupied with exploring Red’s. He's quick and insistent with it, like a dam has broken inside him and suddenly he’s desperate for contact, starved like he hasn’t been in years. The skillful way Red licks into him leaves him breathless and panting. He wants more. He wants to lose himself in the kind of heat he’s abstained from for ages.

He keens, low and long, as Red sucks lightly on his tongue before swirling it around with his own. When he pulls away, Papyrus has to bite down on the whine that rises in him. Part of him wants to be embarrassed by his obvious desperation, but mostly he’s too turned on to care. Besides, Red doesn’t seem to mind either way. He continues to move back just enough to bite his way down Papyrus’s neck, scraping gently with his teeth. He laves his tongue over the tiny marks he leaves, shushing and soothing as he does so.

“ _Shit_.” Papyrus mutters, low and needy as his magic responds to the attention.

“Mmm, yeah, just like that,” Red encourages, leaning back on his hands for leverage as he rolls his hips, “Come on, show me what you feel like.”

It’s not difficult to comply.

All it takes is a little more rutting for the hot heat of his magic to pool at his pubic symphysis and his cock to form. It fills in against his bones, trapped under the fabric of his pants and tenting upwards.

Red huffs out a breath of laughter, “That was fast.”

“Shut up.” Papyrus growls, voice gone hoarse with yearning.

“Relax, I’m not complaining,” Despite his casual tone, Red’s looking a little flushed now too; a dark cast of magic burning against his cheekbones, “Guess it must’ve been a while for you, huh?”

He doubts Red’s really looking for an answer but he finds himself nodding anyways, forehead pressed against Red’s sternum. There’s a pause where Red doesn’t say or do anything. But then, while one of his hands comes up to hold at his shoulder, the other moves to cup his face, lifting it up to meet him. Papyrus looks on in surprise as Red leans down softly, pressing a clanking kiss to the front of his teeth.

“What was that for?” Papyrus asks, slightly dazed by the softness of the action.

“Nothing really,” Red says, though Papyrus can read enough in his expression to know he’s not being entirely honest, “Lean back a bit, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

Papyrus can’t remember the last time he’s heard an idea so appealing.

He does as he’s told and he’s repaid with a heavy thrust as Red resumes rocking against him. It’s a bit slow going at first—Red’s still bracing against his shoulder with one hand while the other is busy working at the front of his pants as he presumably tries to speed his magic into forming. As Red rubs at himself, he continues rutting as well, making it so that his hand bumps up against Papyrus’s crotch with each forward motion.

The hard edge of the ring he’s wearing presses tight against his cock and Papyrus hisses.

“Sorry,” Red moves his hand and Papyrus spots the telltale glow of red underneath the dark material of his pants. He steadies himself against Papyrus, “Here. This’ll probably feel a lot better.”

Red follows the statement up with a roll of his hips and Papyrus feels his breathing stutter as the press of his dick rubs _just right_ against his.

“Good?” Red asks.

“ _Fuck_.” Papyrus breathes and Red laughs lightly in response.

Once again, the conversation is left forgotten.

Red lines up against him with ease and presses down onto him with the lightest of pressure. He lifts up and down delicately, the friction just barely building him up. He’s teasing, dragging this out torturously slow. Papyrus won’t have it.

He digs his phalanges in tighter against Red’s hips, driving forward and meeting him for every thrust. He feels it when Red’s legs start to tremble at his sides. It’s a point of satisfaction when he gets that first low moan from the smaller skeleton’s mouth.

Red gets the message and he picks up the pace, hands gripping into his shoulder. Papyrus looks up from where they’re pressing against each other and sees the hungry longing on the red-eyed monster’s face. His soul jolts at the sight of it, the feeling of being wanted alien to him after so long.

The hard line of Red’s cock catches him at the perfect angle and Papyrus groans, surprised. His phalanges twitch reflexively and Papyrus knows he’s reaching his peak. Red is too, by the sounds of his breathing. Papyrus rubs slow, halting circles into Red’s hips with his thumbs, trying to keep the frantic pulse of his soul from overwhelming him before it’s time.

“I’m— _ahh_ —I’m c-close.” He warns.

Red inches even nearer to him and Papyrus can feel the way his dick twitches at his words, “Y-yeah. Me too.”

Red thrusts again and they both groan in tandem at the rub of friction. Papyrus can feel the smaller skeleton start to shake, so he decides to take initiative, adjusting his hold. With a firm grasp around the outer edges of his pelvis, Papyrus lifts Red and then plunges him back down, meeting him halfway with a shift of his own hips. Red gasps, phalanges scrambling for purchase in his shirt.

He continues, faster and faster as the build of his climax pushes at him. Red has surrendered almost completely to his hold, body tight with a tension that begs to be released. He pants as his soul pulses wildly in his chest, Red’s faltering moans ringing inside his skull along with a  _brrring_ of vibration that he can’t quite place.

The last push they need is less of a thrust and more just quick, short, rubbing. Red presses tight to his chest, not more than an inch between their bodies. They grind together in counterpoint—for every downwards motion from Red, Papyrus shifts up and vice versa—and it doesn’t take long for the heat between them to tip over at it’s highest.

He comes with a lurch, soul thrumming with pleasure, and is only vaguely aware of Red shuddering along with him.

For a bleary half a second, he thinks he hears Red say his name.

It’s as he’s coming down from his high that he realises he can still hear the earlier buzzing. Confused, he glances around, but can’t see anything that could be the source of the noise. Then, his sockets blow wide in realisation.

“ _Shit_ , Muffet!” He yelps, scrambling for his phone.

Red slips off his lap as he reaches for his pocket but Papyrus barely notices in his panic. He digs in with his fingers and pulls out his phone by a corner in triumph. He flips it open as quick as he can, only to immediately slouch in bewilderment.

No one’s calling him.

“Hello?” Papyrus stills at the sounds of Red’s voice.

He turns his head and sees the small skeleton pressing a sleek looking smartphone up to the side of his skull, “Yeah, Boss?”

Oh.

It must’ve been Red’s phone that was vibrating then.

“No, I didn’t.” Red looks off into the distance as he talks, thumb absently playing with that ring on his finger again. Papyrus wonders if it’s a nervous habit. He’s certainly good at keeping a cool, collected front while internally freaking out if it is.

“Calm down,” He grins, and here his eyes dart over to Papyrus, “I had a better idea.”

His face heats a little at that, the knowledge of what they’d just done fresh in his mind.

“Okay, see you soon.” Red says before he ends the call and puts his phone down.

“Important?” Papyrus asks by way of conversation.

Red nods, “It was my boss.”

“Boss, huh?” Papyrus recalls his earlier words and some pieces of the puzzle slide into place, “Is… he the guy I’m pretending to be?”

“Mhmm.” Comes the quiet affirmation. There’s a ghost of a smile on Red’s face, and he looks at Papyrus as if seeing right past him.

With the knowledge he has now, and in the light of what’s just happened…

He has to ask.

“… are you dating him?”

Red blinks.

And then, he _laughs_.

It’s nothing soft either—it’s loud and incredulous, like Papyrus has just said the single most hilarious thing he’s ever heard.

He’s still snickering as he edges back to him, sockets hooding even as he smiles, all full of intent. Red leans in close, swipes his still conjured tongue over his teeth in askance and Papyrus open his mouth to him even as his soul thuds in his chest. The kiss is almost sweet compared to the rough, impassioned way they’d been only moments before. He can feel the starts of a flush rushing to his face as Red licks carefully into him. When he pulls away, Papyrus follows for a fraction of a second before he manages to hold himself back.

“I’m not dating him,” Red says, eyes still alight with amusement and Papyrus almost misses his next words, still too relaxed by what’s the most action he’s had in ages. His knife-like grin is back in full force, cutting when he gives another small laugh, “Boss is my brother.”

And Papyrus

just

stops.

(His… _what?)_

He’s not sure what kind of expression he’s making, but Red just smiles at him as he slips out of his seat. Papyrus watches blankly as he straightens out his clothes and reaches into his jacket. He takes out a folded envelope, peeks inside it then slides it across the table towards him.

Red winks, “It was nice meeting ya, stretch.”

He walks away.

Alone at the table, Papyrus stares at the envelope, soul pounding in his chest.

He wonders how drunk he can get with two hundred dollars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> additional tags that I didn't add b/c I figured it would ruin the mystery lmao:
> 
> Past!Papyrus had a Bad Breakup  
> Papyrus has difficulties letting go  
> Papyrus tries to move on but feels weirdly guilty about it  
> Sans takes advantage of Pap being poor af  
> Sans is ~*experienced*~  
> Sans has A Thing for his brother  
>   
>  **EDIT** Fixed some embarrassing 4 AM mistakes ughhhhh,,,


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaand this is an ongoing fic now B'D
> 
> i just couldn't resist orz,,, but!!! i think quite a few people DID express interest in a continuation so i guess this isn't _entirely_ self-indulgent ahahaha

Both life experience and a fuck-ton of movies have taught Papyrus that when an expensive, black car pulls up next to you as you’re walking home, you’re in for a ride.

Whether you like it or not.

So, he knows on the most basic level that he doesn’t have the luxury of turning them down, but he tries his best to ignore the car following him anyway. He’s a little pissed actually, because he’s fairly certain that he’s paid off most of his loans already. The sharks have no reason to be hassling him like this. Besides, it’s not like it’s _easy_ to uproot your entire life and start anew in some city miles away from where you used to live—it’d be nice to have some leeway from time to time.

But it’s always the same when it comes to humans and money; not an inch of patience anywhere in their souls.

He sighs loudly, dropping the stump of the cigarette he’s smoking to the ground and grinding it out under his heel, “Alright. What the hell do you want?”

The doors open and Papyrus instantly slumps.

Because, instead of humans, there are two _very_ tall, very _muscular_ monsters in black suits and shades looking down at him.

“Umm.”

They ignore his sudden wordlessness, instead gesturing inside the vehicle, “Take a seat.”

Papyrus laughs nervously, “You know, I _would_ , but I have this _thing_ later today and—”

“This is not a request.”

Well, shit.

He considers booking it right then and there, but something in his posture must give him away because the monsters both take a step towards him, arms tensed as if prepared to grab him. Papyrus shudders. He has no idea what this is about, but he has a pretty good feeling that he won’t get very far if he tries to run.

So, he shuffles towards them instead, soul thudding hard in his chest. They back away as he approaches the door, apparently content to give him his space. He’s grateful for that at least; being manhandled would definitely be a lower point than usual in his day. As he settles in against the fine leather seats—and holy _fuck_ is the interior of this car high class! —the monsters file in after him. One sits on either side, keeping him pinned in between them.

The one to his right holds a hand up to their ear, “Proceed.”

The car pulls forward.

Papyrus feels like his soul is going to leap right out of his chest and his desperately pushes down the rush of anxiety telling him that this is the end. He’s half expecting one of the guards next to him to pull out a blindfold and wrap it around his sockets, like they’re going somewhere secret and they don’t want him to know the directions. But, instead, the two monsters sit stiffly next to him, completely unmoving as the car rolls ahead and the scenery outside passes them by.

This whole situation is almost laughably akin to a scene from a movie. Except for the part where it’s _actually_ _happening_ to him in real life right now and how nothing good ever happens to monsters in movies like this.

He feels the sudden, unrelenting urge to crawl over the guard to his left and jump out the car window.

Papyrus tries to focus on taking in his surroundings instead. There’s a small, black tray set out in front of them holding a tall wine glass and a corked bottle in a bucket of ice. There are also a few sealed bottles of sparkling water beneath the tray. Papyrus blinks at it, feeling completely out of his depth. He sneaks a look up at his guards but, if they find it strange, they don’t say anything about it. They don’t make a move to stop him either as Papyrus reaches forward to grab a glass, though he fills it with water instead of wine.

It gives him something to do instead of just sit there and let his thoughts wonder at horrifying possibilities at least.

He’s nervously sipping on his drink as they finally turn corner into a street that looks vaguely familiar. He squints outside the window, unconsciously leaning forward to see better. His soul jolts in surprise as the sight of them pulling up next to the club he was at just two nights ago. He doesn’t realise that his mouth is open and dribbling water in shock until the guard he’s leaning on makes a noise of discontent as the water soaks his clean pressed pants.

Papyrus flushes, immediately pulling back, “Oh, uh, sorry.”

The monster simply grunts, still not looking at him.

The car comes to a stop and both monsters spare no time getting out of the vehicle. They stand just outside, evidentially waiting for Papyrus to do the same. He puts the glass back, ignoring the way his phalanges are shaking, and takes a second to steady himself.

He steps out of the car.

The monsters immediately flank him on either side and begin ushering him towards the club. There’s no time for Papyrus to shout for help—not that there seems to be anyone nearby anyways—or to even make an attempt to break away. So, he keeps his head down and lets them lead him.

They haven’t harmed him so far, so he’s probably going to be okay, right…?

As soon as they approach the building, Papyrus is struck by just how different the place looks in the shrill sunlight of the day. There’s no hard, thudding music seeping in through the walls and enticing monsters to come inside, and there are no bright, neon signs turned on to proclaim the name of the place loudly to anyone in the vicinity. Right now, it just seems like a innocuous little location no different from the dozens of other buildings lining the street downtown.

Even as they enter, it’s a weird parallel to him. The whole place looks markedly different when the lights are properly on and there are no shadows and colourful lights to give it that club-like feel. It almost looks boring like this, and Papyrus is struck with a weird sense of wonder at how the glamour of the night could be lost just with the flick of a few switches. Staring at the changes keeps him from looking ahead however, and he slams into a body in front of him before he can even turn to see them coming.

“Watch it.” Intones the monster and Papyrus turns to see an elemental eyeing him over with distaste.

“Sorry.” He says, delayed and entirely sincere, because he doesn’t exactly appreciate the hostility radiating off of this guy.

“Ugh,” the monster says, purple flames flickering off of his form, “You really _do_ look like him.”

“Uhh…”

But before Papyrus can question that line of thought any further, the elemental looks up at the two guards framing him, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and stop blocking up my club already.”

“It’s not even open.” Responds one of the guards.

The flame monster gives him a withering look and Papyrus’s guard promptly apologises. The exchange would be downright comical if Papyrus was confused as fuck. As it is, one guard’s large hands come down onto Papyrus’s shoulders and start steering him quickly through the empty club. Once they’re a good bit away from the elemental, they slow down, but the monster doesn’t remove their hands from Papyrus’s shoulders, guiding him around a darkened corner and past two doors before stopping at a third.

The guard not holding onto him knocks.

“Come in.” Comes a rough voice from beyond the sturdy oak.

At that, the guard pulls the door open and unceremoniously shoves Papyrus through it. He yelps, stumbling forward undignified, as the monsters continue standing at the threshold.

“Got him, Boss.”

“You have my thanks.” Says the voice again. Papyrus directs a glare at his handlers before looking up to see who’s speaking.

He feels his soul stop dead in his chest.

“Please wait outside while I conduct my business,” Papyrus stares at a monster that looks almost _exactly_ like him, save for the sharpness of his features, “And retrieve our guests from the bar while you’re at it.”

The monsters nod at him and turn to leave. They close the door behind them, effectively locking Papyrus into what’s probably the most surreal experience of his life.

“Hello, Papyrus,” smiles the monster than can be no one else but the brother Red mentioned having, “It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

“I—what—” He stutters, mind reeling, “How the hell do you know my name?”

Because, despite the fact that he and Red and gotten each other off, he hadn’t actually ever given his name to the smaller monster. The fact that his brother knows it… the fact that his brother is calling him here at _all_ …

The skeleton in front of him shifts forward in his plush leather chair, unfolding his arms off the desk in front of him. Papyrus catches a glint of silver and sees a familiar band around one of his duplicate’s phalanges. The monster ignores his staring and absently strokes at a manila folder laying nearby instead, “I know more than just your name.”

He picks the folder up and flicks carelessly through it, “Born and raised in a human-majority town down south. Only child. Dated your childhood best friend through high school and into post-secondary. Dropped out of college in your fourth year. Left your alma mater behind and moved here about three years ago. Kept no contact with anyone from your old hometown and made very few new friends here in the city during that stretch. Fell into some troubling times and in with some even _more_ troubling people. Acquired assisstance from some humans that are… rather _insistent_ that their kindness be repaid.”

There’s a cold wash of fury that runs through Papyrus as the skeleton speaks. Colour flushes into his cheekbones, anger pulsing into him at being so thoroughly exposed to someone he doesn’t know. He opens his mouth to snarl, to shout, to argue, to fight—

And then.

“Got intimate with my brother at this very club two nights ago.”

Warmth further suffuses into Papyrus’s face at that, and his heated words dry up before they make their way out. He chokes, mouth snapping shut and face flaming. His indignation fades as it gives way to utter mortification and embarrassment instead.

“That’s the only bit of truly private information I have and it was willingly given, of course. Everything else is public knowledge.”

And suddenly, Papyrus is wholly, overwhelmingly, tired, “Great, so you read my fucking wiki. What do you _want_ with me?”

“There’s no need to be hostile,” his doppelganger says, leaning forward in his chair, “I’d simply like to make you an offer.”

Papyrus has been through this song and dance already. He isn’t entirely sure he wants any more ‘offers’ from either of the new skeletons he’s met. Though, truth be told, a good portion of that feeling is due, in part, to the weird sense of betrayal creeping into his head. And it’s stupid, right? He didn’t know Red. They didn’t owe each other anything. But, somehow, he’d expected Red to keep this a secret.

_Especially_ from his brother.

The fact that he clearly didn’t and that whatever conclusions Papyrus had come to about their relationship are wrong, leaves him completely on uneven ground. He doesn’t know what to do with this information. He has no idea where to go from here.

What he’d _like_ to do is just _leave_ but the door is still guarded and he has the feeling that his twin needs to dismiss him before it’ll be open to him. So, he stands and he listens.

“My brother was rather smug about his dalliance with you,” there’s a spark in his twin’s eye there and a smirk tugging at his sharpened teeth, “And I have always been, by nature, fairly competitive.”

“My request is simple,” he says, professional and blunt, pulling out an expensive looking phone, “A kiss and a picture of it.”

Papyrus eyes him warily, incredulity colouring his tone, “… that’s what you brought me all the way here for?”

“Yes,” the other skeleton nods, “Naturally, I will compensate you for it. I’m thinking… about half what my brother offered you the other night?”

Papyrus can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, “So… a kiss… and then I get a hundred bucks off of you?”

“Exactly.”

He should leave.

He should tell this creep to fuck right off, hightail it out of here and continue living his life without the sudden appearance of rich assholes with reprehensible morals plaguing him.

But. He’s still got that envelope full of cash sitting on his nightstand back home, untouched save for when he’d first cracked it open to count its contents. He’s torn. On the one hand, _fuck_ these guys. On the other… with multiple financial deadlines hanging over his head like a guillotine, adding another hundred to his reserves sounds real fucking appealing.

And a picture of him kissing a dude that looks like him? Not the weirdest thing he’s ever had photographed of himself, if he’s being honest. There was a whole year in high school where he and Sans used to—

Well. That doesn’t matter anymore.

More importantly, he already knows what the right thing to do here is. There’s no reason to stay and continue to participate in whatever messed up thing he’s gotten involved in. His twin isn’t forcing him into anything, he’s making an offer. One that Papyrus can and absolutely _should_ turn down.

He knows the right thing to do but… he _also_ knows he’s not going to turn this opportunity down.

He can’t afford to.

“Alright.” He says, swiping his speedily conjured tongue over his teeth. He ignores the weight of embarrassment heavy in the negative space beneath his ribs as he surges forward towards his double.

It’s… actually kind of painful. Their teeth clink together. But Papyrus has his hands firmly planted on the dude’s desk and he’s leaning too far forward to pull back without making it awkward—more awkward that it already _is_ in any case—and he’s determined to get through this as fast as possible, so he just pushes through it. He licks a strip across his twin’s mouth and waits for a chance to deepen the kiss. Or for the other monster to just take a picture of this, he supposes.

His doppelganger pulls back.

“I’m… afraid you might have misunderstood me.” The skeleton says, only the slightest pause betraying his otherwise perfect calm.

Papyrus blinks at him.

“I didn’t want you to kiss _me_.”

“Oh.” He says, and if it was possible to him feel any more embarrassed, he would. As it is though, he’s already kind of topping the charts, “Uh… who then?”

His twin smiles as he presses a button on his desk, and leans down to speak, “You may let our guests enter now.”

The door reopens and the guards from before bring in two humans.

They’re both dressed in what appear to be lab coats. As Papyrus looks them over though, they’re unlike any scientists he’s ever seen. Their coats are pristine—he’d had a friend who would’ve had some choice words about that—and there’s not a name tag in sight. It leads him to believe that maybe these are more costumes than anything else, especially considering the fact that the humans are both rather attractive. They look less like haggard scientists and more like models.

“Do we have a deal?” His twin asks, and Papyrus turns slightly back to him to see that he’s holding his phone at the ready.

He shrugs, trying to exude a calm that he doesn’t quite feel, “Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Excellent,” the other skeleton continues, and then gestures at the humans, “Then, if you two would please guide him.”

And just like that, Papyrus is swept up into human hands.

One of them turns Papyrus’s head closer and immediately draws their tongue across his teeth. The wetness of it makes the heat of his magic flush instantly to his cheekbones. The other human pulls at the collar of his t-shirt, exposing his collarbone and nibbling lightly along it. He gasps in surprise at the feeling, which the first human uses as an opportunity to lick swiftly into his mouth. Papyrus freezes up against them. He feels like he needs a second to catch up, because this is suddenly going a lot faster than he thought it would.

“Relax,” comes the surprisingly firm voice of his twin, “It needs to look natural.”

In terms of direction, it’s not the most helpful, but it gives Papyrus the grounding he needs. He reminds himself that he agreed to this and that he’s getting paid for this. All he has to do is get through this and he’ll be a hundred dollars richer. It’s not even that big a deal—just a kiss.

He can do this.

And, with that in mind, he reforms his tongue to meet the human’s, entwining them together and relishing in the moan he draws out from them at the action. Meanwhile, the other human moves their way up, licking along his cervical vertebrae and then along the side of his jaw. The heat of both their bodies against him is almost too hot and the contrast between their resting body temperatures makes him shiver as they grip tighter onto him.

“That’ll suffice.” Comes the distant voice of his copy.

The humans immediately back away from him and the abrupt change rocks him a little in place. They two humans look towards the other skeleton and he dismisses them with a wave. Wordlessly, they leave the room, leaving Papyrus standing there, cold and dishevelled.

His twin retakes his seat and motions for Papyrus to do the same. It feels a bit like rebooting himself into motion, but Papyrus moves as directed. As he shifts into place, he notes that the other skeleton continues clicking away on his phone before finally placing it facedown on his desk. Then, he folds his phalanges on the desktop and smiles at him, jagged teeth curling up in an almost sinister way.

“I appreciate you going through all the trouble.”

“Uh… don’t sweat it.” Papyrus responds, feeling the awkwardness seep back in.

The phone vibrates, clattering against the desktop.

Save for a stretch of his smile, his doppelganger ignores it and continues addressing him, “It’s private, of course. No one will see that photo but my brother and I. And you, I suppose. If you’d like to see it.”

The phone vibrates again.

Somehow, it seems a little more insistent this time.

“No, I’m… good.” What he _really_ wants is for this exchange to end and for his twin to hand him the money so he can leave this weird fucking situation and never look back.

The phone vibrates a third time, angry pulsing against the desk, and this time his twin turns it over. Papyrus watches as he seems to read through whatever’s on his screen. The other skeleton smirks before turning it back over and placing it down once more.

“Did you want your compensation in cash or would you rather have it wired to your account?”

“Um, cash is fine.” He says, fidgeting a little how fucking _awkward_ this is.

“Of course.” The skeleton nods, opens a desk drawer and takes out a clean, white envelope. He pushes it across the desk towards him. Papyrus wonders for a brief, ridiculous, moment whether both brothers just carry around cash like this all the damn time.

He hesitates for only a moment before reaching out to grab it. Upon doing so, he instantly checks inside to make sure all the money’s there—less because he thinks this rich bastard is going to rip him off, and more out of habit than anything else. He flushes when he realises what he’s doing and whips his gaze back up at his twin.

The other monster just continues to smile at him.

“So, uh…” Papyrus ventures, “We done here?”

“We’re done, yes.”

“Okay.” He says, “Cool.”

He gets up cautiously and slowly walks towards the door, half-waiting for the other skeleton to stop him. When the sound of vibration clacks loudly against the desk once more, he nearly jumps up from how tense he is. He watches as the phone continues to vibrate, this time a phone call and not a text. His twin turns away from him, an easy dismissal, and finally retrieves the phone.

Papyrus opens the door just as the other skeleton picks it up, “Hello, brother.”

As he leaves, and the door shuts behind him, he can just barely make out the sound of Red’s voice shouting loudly from the other end.

He’ll admit, he’s a little curious about what exactly the deal is with these two but, mostly, he’d be happier not getting caught up in it. There’s something unsettling about both of them that Papyrus isn’t exactly interested in uncovering. But, hey, now he’s three hundred closer to making rent this month—or paying something else obscenely expensive off—and at least that’s a win in his books.

He nods to both the guards as he leaves the room and then waves at the bartender as he leaves the club. There’s practically a skip in his step as he does it. He walks into the fresh air and sunlight and takes a moment to just enjoy it before turning around and making his way to the nearest bus stop.

He firmly promises himself that he’s never coming back to this place again.

 

 

Which makes it that much more awful for him when Muffet drags him back to the club the next weekend she has free.

“Muffet,” he whines, as she drags him through the already dense lineup, “I’d really, really, _really_ rather not.”

“Why are you being so difficult, Papyrus?” she titters, having had to put up with his complaining the whole way here already, “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Do you know who he _is_?”

His mistake, of course, had been telling Muffet anything at all about his encounters. Even without going into detail—because god knows there was no way he was talking to her about his sex life—she’d immediately filled in the blanks all on her own. Besides having some choice comments to make about his recent source of income, she’d asked him over and over again if he was _sure_ that the purple flame elemental was the owner of the club.

When he’d confirmed that that’s what the monster had said, she’d asked him if there was any way he could get her a meeting with him. As if Papyrus was suddenly all buddy-buddy with the dude that had been antagonistic towards him without even knowing who he was. She’d said it with that glint in her eye too, all calculating and sharp, and Papyrus had known instantly that even if he told her no, she’d find a way.

And find a way she did—somehow, she’d found a contact that would grant her a meeting with someone who was apparently the city’s fastest rising monster entrepreneur. She’d been thrilled at her good fortune, going on and on about it during his last shift at her bakery. And, of course, that eventually led to her roping Papyrus into accompanying her because, ‘I’ll be drinking, sweetie. I’ll need someone to drive me back.’

All in all? A _mess_.

But… he still owed Muffet for basically abandoning her on her big night. There was no way he could turn her down—the guilt was too strong. She probably knew it too, if the way she smirked when he agreed said anything about it. In the end, he was here now and there was no turning back.

At least without incurring Muffet’s wrath, there wasn’t.

Papyrus gives in with a sigh, “What am I supposed to do while you sweet talk him into spilling his entrepreneurial secrets, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find something~” She says, a mischievous glint in her eye as they walk in through the doors and enter the heavily populated room.

“What is _that_ supposed to—”

“Hey!”

And Papyrus turns towards the crowd only to see a hatefully familiar shark tooth grin.

Suddenly, it’s obvious to him who Muffet’s contact is.

“Muffet, what the _fuck_?”

“Sorry, dear,” She laughs, sounding absolutely unapologetic, “He said he’d buy me some time with Grillby but only if I brought _you_ with me.”

“You sold me out!”

“Oh, hush,” She rolls every single one of her eyes, exaggerated and condescending, patting him once on the shoulder before going off in the direction of the bar, “You could use some more friends anyway. You should be _thanking_ me.”

Papyrus only glowers at her as she walks away him, standing stiffly in place. When Red sidles up by his side he ignores it, looking anywhere but at the smaller monster. Red stands quietly next to him, both of them watching Muffet go till she’s lost in the crowd.

“Your friend’s cute.”

Papyrus scoffs, “You’re not her type.”

Red laughs, shifting his position till he catches Papyrus’s eye, “I’m _everyone’s_ type.”

“Except your Boss’s, right?”

“ _Ouch_ ,” Red snickers, clutching a hand dramatically to his chest but expression ceaselessly amused, “Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda an asshole?”

He hasn’t, actually. He’s starting to think that there may just be something about Red that rubs him— _hah_ —the wrong way. It’s probably bolstered by the fact that he very dearly does not want to be part of whatever illicit activities him and his brother are involved in.

“That’s fine though, ‘cause so am I. Our friendship is already off to a great start.”

“We’re not friends.” He retorts on automatic.

“Then why are you about to give me your number?”

“What do you—?” Papyrus’s eyelights practically bug right out of his sockets at the sight of his cellphone in Red’s grip. The monster waves it at him with a grin as Papyrus frantically pats down his pockets. When they come up empty, he confirms that the smaller monster must have swiped them right off of him.

Red flips his phone open and starts pressing down on buttons, making Papyrus splutter, “Give that back!”

“Calm your shit.” Red says before tossing the phone back at him, “There, now we’re all set.”

As soon as he catches it, Papyrus scans furiously through the contacts. He scrolls through the list, slumping in a weird mixture of relief and surprise when he sees nothing’s been added to it. He looks up suspiciously at Red who only grins at him in response.

He’s about to ask what the point of all that was when he gets an incoming text from an unrecognised contact.

_‘i saved your number. you can decide for yourself if you wanna keep mine.’_

Papyrus’s phalange hovers over the delete button.

“Anyways,” Red says, interrupting his thoughts, “You have any idea how hard it was to track you down?”

Papyrus rolls his eyelights at him, “Why didn’t you just ask your brother? He’s got a fucking folder filled with information on me.”

Red shrugs, “Where would be the fun in that?”

“ _Fun?_ Glad to know that this is just a goddamn game to you.”

“Mm,” Red hums, a sudden sharpness to his gaze and a bite to his words, “Sometimes you gotta settle for a game when you can’t have the real thing.”

The air grows cold around them and an uncomfortable silence descends. Red’s whole body seems tense. It occurs to Papyrus that maybe this isn’t the sort of conversation he should be having in a room packed with other monsters. It seems private.

Too private.

There’s a moment where they stare at each other, wordless and searching. Then, Red turns and starts to walk away.

Despite himself, Papyrus follows.

He eyes Red over carefully as they move past the larger crowds and into more secluded grounds, “… you said that you two weren’t together.”

“We’re not.” Red replies, blunt.

As they turn another corner, they end up right where they were that first night. This time, Papyrus is observant enough to see guards—the same ones from the other day, in fact—standing off in the shadows. He watches as Red motions something to them and they nod before slinking away, leaving the two of them alone with the flashing lights and pounding music.

“So, if you’re not… _involved_ …” The mood still feels wrong; still feels too serious, too _open_ , for the sort of relationship they have, “Then what the hell is all this about?”

“Just some brotherly pranks, of course,” Red drawls, feigned casual, and Papyrus latches onto that lie like a lifeline to normalcy, “Boss pranks me, I prank him back.”

He folds his arms across his chest, putting emphasis on his annoyance in an attempt to move past whatever strange vulnerability they’ve prodded at, “Any chance you two could leave me out of your weird bullshit?”

“What are you complaining about, dude?” Red laughs, and it almost sounds genuine, “It’s not like we aren’t _paying_ you for it. The fact is, you could’ve turned either one of us down and you didn’t. And I have a feeling that you _still_ won’t.”

They both stare at each other, challenging.

Papyrus breaks first, with a sigh, “Just tell me what you want already.”

Red grins, and that at least seems real, “A kiss.”

“Thought I already crossed that one off the list?”

“Gonna switch it up a bit. Push it further.” Red winks at him, “Boss took a picture, so we’ll make a video.”

“We?” Papyrus eyes him over, wary, “As in… you and me?”

“Well, yeah,” Red gives him a look, “You see anyone else here?”

“Just making sure…” He mumbles under breath.

The other skeleton only deigns to raise a browbone at him, moving closer to the seats instead.

The situation is different than it was like with his twin. Because, right now, as he thinks about kissing Red again, he can recall the exact stirrings of arousal from that first fateful night. His body tingles with that feel-good anticipation, eager to recreate prior events. He’d reproach himself if he could, but he can’t deny that the idea is appealing—with or without the money he’ll get at the end of it.

“Alright, so the lighting’s still shit but we don’t exactly need quality here. In fact, the graininess might add to the illusion.”

“So, uh…” Papyrus darts his gaze around, “What next?”

“It’s not that complicated, Einstein. Just sit down.”

Red gestures towards the seats and Papyrus sits. He plants himself down and settles in against the cushions, feeling his weight sink into their soft plushness. The familiarity is striking, and he can’t help but think back to the last time he sat in this very place. He looks up at Red to see him watching him, considering. He wonders whether he’s thinking of then too.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on it too long however because, moments later, Red sinks down onto him as well. He seats himself firmly in Papyrus’s lap, legs spread on either side of his and both arms wrapped around the back of his neck. The proximity makes Papyrus flush, the ghost touch of their previous encounter still vivid in his head.

“Hmm,” Red hums, looking him over discerningly, “Your left side works best, I think. Gonna try to angle it that way.”

Papyrus desperately tries not to think too hard about the fact that by ‘works best’ Red means looks most like his brother.

While he tries to push that distracting thought out of his head, Red pulls out his phone and fiddles with it for a bit before extending it outwards. Papyrus looks up to see an image of both of them on the screen and feels his soul pound hard against his ribcage. Somehow, seeing Red straddling him on screen makes the heat seep further into his bones.

“Smile for the camera.” Red whispers and Papyrus barely gets a moment to look away from the phone before he moves in for a kiss.

Kissing Red is nothing like kissing the humans.

Papyrus isn’t sure what makes it so different. Maybe it’s because they’ve done this before? Or maybe it’s just that Red gets so _into_ it, with his free hand wandering up underneath Papyrus’s shirt and his tongue tracing wet, needy pleas against his teeth. It feels natural to open up to him, to grip him tight and hold him close as he kisses him back with fervor. And when Red moans against him it only fuels that fire further, panting and licking into the other monster’s mouth with a passion that escaped him otherwise.

The heat of Red’s body on top of his has his magic reacting already and he has to focus to contain himself. Not that it matters, because moments after he tamps down on that low burn building inside of him, Red’s hand wanders down his ribs and towards the front of his jeans. As soon as Red palms him from the front, Papyrus’s magic fizzles and cracks, quickly gathering into a heated mess in his pelvis. It doesn’t take shape but there’s no way that Red didn’t notice and Papyrus mentally prepares himself for the snide remark to follow.

To his surprise however, Red just continues to kiss him, sockets shut tight and hand working open his pants. In fact, he’s dimly aware of the fact that _both_ of Red’s hands are on him now, the one not at his pelvis, gripping tight onto his shoulder. Which can only mean that he’s dropped the phone.

There’s no performance anymore.

It’s just them.

The realisation jolts through him just as Red starts rubbing his bare phalanges across his pubic symphysis. The combination of stimulus has his magic snap to attention, his dick forming hard and heavy in Red’s grip. Yet again he waits for the snickering and once more Red skips it in favour of stroking him roughly instead.

It’s dry and not exactly the most comfortable, but something about the situation makes Papyrus hot for it anyways. He groans into Red’s mouth, gripping tighter onto him and dragging him closer, desperate for more of him to touch. Red only continues to kiss him and work at his cock, hand slicking him up with precome and easing the way with every slide of his phalanges up and down his length.

It’s not long before Papyrus is tensing up entirely, so close to the precipice. He’d beg for release if he could but Red keeps his mouth occupied, moaning into him and refusing to draw back for breath. When the skeleton finally thumbs around the head of his cock, neglected attention for so long, Papyrus damn near whines at the feeling.

Then Red presses down at his slit and that’s it—Papyrus is coming in spurts that spring up past Red phalanges and dirty up his shirt.

Red pulls back, and Papyrus is relieved to note that he’s not that only one that’s flushing, “That, uh… that should be good. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Papyrus says, hoarse, phalanges still reflexively inching back towards Red.

He waits as Red slowly gets off of him. Papyrus notes that the other skeleton is obviously still aroused, a low glow coming from underneath his dress pants. But, before he can offer to do anything about it, Red turns away from him and shucks off his jacket. He watches mutely and Red’s shirt comes off next, exposing his bare chest to him.

Papyrus feels his body go cold.

Red looks broken.

There’s no better way to describe it.

Papyrus has never seen so many scars on a person—monster or otherwise—in his entire life. It looks like someone shattered Red’s ribcage and pieced him back together again like some sort of twisted up jigsaw puzzle. The fissures look old and greyed, spider webbing out from multiple points of impact. They’ve evidently healed up fully and not a single bone is misaligned, but that doesn’t make Papyrus feel any better.

He has to rip his gaze away before he says something he regrets.

Red, for his part, either doesn’t notice his staring or just doesn’t care. With his dirtied shirt taken off, Red proceeds to wipe his hands clean on it as well. That done, he tosses it to the side and retrieves his jacket, this time zipping it up entirely.

Next, he moves to pick up his phone from where it has fallen of to the side. He presses at the screen a little before looking up at Papyrus.

“Not to brag, but I think we did pretty good.”

Papyrus doesn’t know what to say to that after the jarring display so he says nothing at all.

“I mean, only the first ten or fifteen seconds is actually usable and I’ll have to cut the rest but otherwise we’re in the clear,” Red continues staring down at his phone and Papyrus finds himself staring at the way his expression shifts. It’s like his whole face relaxes, softening around the edges. Papyrus’s gaze wanders downwards and he catches another flash of silver in the changing lights.

Red’s only wearing one ring today.

“You love him.” Papyrus says, apropos of nothing.

The other skeleton stiffens, his permagrin faltering just the slightest.

“Does he know?” Papyrus shakes his head, “No, I mean, he must, right? If you told him about me and if he’s doing all this, then he definitely knows. But… you said you two weren’t together so… does he not feel—?”

“I’m _pretty_ sure you said that we weren’t friends.” Red cuts him off, a frightening half-smile on his face, more teeth than grin.

Papyrus shuts up.

“Unless something’s mysteriously changed on that front in the last twenty minutes, I’m not really feeling like delving into my tragic backstory,” Red’s words are lined with so much venom that Papyrus has to resist the urge to flinch as he speaks, “Try again later, pal.”

“Sorry.” He mutters, genuinely apologetic for somehow unearthing this prickly side that he hadn’t even known Red had.

“Whatever.”

The skeleton turns away from him and reaches into his jacket. He pulls out a rolled-up collection of bills and tosses it at Papyrus, careless and quick.

“Keep the change.” Red says, not making eye contact with him as he whips away and moves briskly out of his line of sight.

Papyrus waits till he’s sure Red’s gone before he puts his head in both hands and groans.

_That_ could’ve gone better.

But hey, it looked like they didn’t keep _all_ their cash in crisp, white envelopes.

That’s one mystery solved at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning that this fic is gonna be primarily honeymustard smut but also be about both stretch and red pining for other people. i wanted HM to be terrible best friends that helped each other out so endgame for this fic is fellcest/swapcest with some strong friendships all around ;u; (and...,,,... poly between all four of the skeles after the curtains close bUT THAT'S ANOTHER STORY...,,)


End file.
